


Steps

by pensandbirds



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Rey definitely had the Force before she knew it, Rey is precious and tough, young Rey on Jakku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensandbirds/pseuds/pensandbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even before she knew what it was, Rey had a power that would lead her to her destiny</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steps

“Rey—this is your first step.”

The voice comes to her in a cantina on a planet greener and more full of life than she ever imagined, telling her that she will start from here.

The voice is wrong. Maz Kanata’s is not her first step, the saber is not her first step. That happened long ago.

The first step into the arid world, with its blazing suns that make her screw up her eyes, does not give her an indication of the path she will be on. Her arm is gripped by an alien creature the likes of which she has never seen before, but her eyes are still on the retreating ship, on the only water she can see, the water that comes from her eyes. This planet, Jakku, is not home, it is a prison, and the only ones that can set her free have left her, abandoned her. Even their promises to come back do not entirely reassure her; even then, somewhere deep inside, she knew it would never happen.

She starts to keep scratch marks of days on the wall of the ancient AT-AT she holes up in. It is away from others, but it is close to that first step. It is familiar.

As the days go on, suns chasing each other over the sand strewn world, she learns to scavenge, what will get her the most food. At first, her small arms can hardly pull one part out. Scratches and bruises, a smattering of color in blues, greens, pinks, reds, line her skinny wind burned arms. She cannot tell one piece from another, or what they do, or whether they will be valuable or not.

In the junk market, she watches an old woman deftly scrub parts to shining perfection, then turn them in for larger portions. Rey thinks, I will be like that. I can do that.

And she does.

She learns to be on her own. Each morning she rises, pulls as much hair as she can into her small fist, creates three small loops lined up (more or less) in the back. It is all she can do. She learns to scarf down bad food and somehow be grateful for it.

Eventually, she stops crying, or at least crying with sound. Water still pools in her eyes. But then, water is life.

What she doesn’t realize is that for a child her size, all of the things she begins to master come easier than they should. Parts are easily worked out by her small fingers prying around them. She is able to calm herself quickly. She walks tall sooner. She can jump, swing, slide, climb up and down the grounded ships, in the most dangerous places, with no fear, with ease. She never asks herself why.

Determination comes second nature. She does not back down when she is offered little for a day’s work. She insists on half portions, whole portions if she can get them. They mutter that she is hard-headed, ornery. But she knows she gets the best parts, in the corners and crevices no one else dares to go.

She does not mind the arid heat now, or the aloneness. She sits in the shade of the old machine she lives in, scratches marks on the side, collects little things to make it home. There is a peace there, lost in the sand, imagining yourself a pilot, off in the skies, among the stars. She wonders how many steps she has taken through the desert. She knows it does not matter; she still has only taken one step.

She learns what the parts do. It is slow work, but she starts by examining where they are on the old Imperial ship, how they connect together, and she starts putting it together. She spends long evenings inspecting the pod racer as well, burning her fingers and more than once leaping away from a shock. She starts to understand why some parts are worth more. And through this, she starts to learn to fly. It comes naturally; she can feel it, like it is a part of her, a natural extension. Even with her eyes closed or blinded by whirling sand, it is as if she can see everything in detail.

She sees the old woman at the junk market, still scrubbing deftly. Rey examines wrinkled hands submerged in grime and water and thinks, I will not be like that. I have a promise. I will find family again. I will find home. I can do more.

 

The first step was the feeling surging in her muscles, bones, her entire being, as she learned to survive. It was the determination that led her hands up and down the dark, decrepit old cockpits of Imperial ships. It was the steadiness in her feet as she trekked across dunes, her staff making holes in the sand. It was the steeliness in her eyes when she bartered for more portions. It was the very thing, she would think much later, that kept BB-8 by her side. Her first step was not opening the box that held Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber. Her first step was not even taking the controls of the Millennium Falcon. Nor was it blocking Kylo Ren from her mind; it was not convincing the Stormtrooper to let her go, or somehow calling a weapon to her. And it certainly was not the base of the cliff she climbed to return that weapon (and, more likely than not, a piece of her mind) to its secluded owner, though the water surrounding the island gave her hope.

Long before she heard of the Force, long before someone gave it a name, she took her first step with it. As she stood to face the last Jedi Master, this is what she thought: that this was the second step, and at last, she was moving forward.


End file.
